Home and away

SAN JERONIMO PURENCHECUARO is a big name for a small town that is getting smaller. Crouched on the shore of Lake Patzcuaro, a magical body of water hidden among hills in the western-central state of Michoacan, the place has a strange air: many of its houses look fairly prosperous, its streets are clean and tidy, but the bustle of a typical Mexican town is quite absent.

In fact, the place is practically deserted, as is San Andres Tzirondaro, the next town along, and many of the other settlements around the lake. Efrain Gonzalez, a community leader in San Andres, estimates that around two-thirds of its inhabitants are living across the border in the United States. Many come back in November or December for the village festivals and Christmas, then leave once more in the new year.

Migration is a complex phenomenon; it is not a simple case of fewer jobs, more migrants. Each region has its own reasons for migration, its own networks, its own set of destinations. In central Mexico, the biggest of several exoduses in the past century was caused by a temporary programme launched in 1943 to allow farm workers into the United States, to ease that country's labour shortage. Although the programme ended in 1964, many of those who had travelled north stayed there, establishing a path for their relatives back home to follow. Maquiladoras were created partly to slow this migration; but by attracting temporary workers to cities on or near the border, they have probably made it worse.

The lure of the north

That is why both Michoacan, one of Mexico's poorest states, and neighbouring Guanajuato, where the booming industrial cities in the centre of the state are suffering from labour shortages, send lots of migrants abroad. Jose Hernandez, director of the Guanajuato government's migration office, estimates that around 30% of the state's people are across the border at any one time. Most of them are from rural villages in the north and south of the state. The jobs in the centre, the long journey to the border and the dangers of crossing it should be keeping them in Mexico, yet the established networks, the higher wages and the promise of the land of opportunity draw them inexorably northwards.

It pays off, as San Jeronimo's well-to-do houses testify. Last year Mexicans in the United States sent home an estimated $6 billion, worth more than 1% of Mexico's GDP. But migration has hidden side-effects. Often it is the most resourceful who disappear across the border instead of building the local economy. Unemployment figures become meaningless: were there no migration, Guanajuato state's joblessness would be a lot higher than the official figure of 2%. And communities crumble; families split; children grow up fatherless.

Nearly half of the migrants from San Andres, says Mr Gonzalez, already have United States work permits. For those who don't, the coyotes who take people across the border often come to recruit workers with a job and a contract already lined up. Sometimes they take a whole group to try their luck, with nothing arranged beforehand. Typically they charge 1,000 pesos ($104) just to put someone on the list, and then, in dollars, another $1,500-2,000 to guide him across. But there is no shortage of takers: a group of 50 or 60 people from around San Andres leaves as frequently as once a fortnight. “As soon as they're old enough to work, the boys go over, and come back grown-up. Sometimes we don't even recognise them.”

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